Hey stranger,

This week, a big snowstorm descended on the city. The Sunday was sunny, and I could see the blue sky peek through the fluffy clouds. As the night fell, the snow came too, and I watched it repaint the city as I fought against sleep to finish a book I had been stuck on for weeks.

I was reading a horror novel while listening to chill jazz in my headphones as an alert rang through the apartment. It was so loud I thought I would go deaf. The emergency alert instructed everyone, if possible, to stay inside and away from roads. It wasn’t anything new. With every season came a new extreme weather phenomenon. I read through it to see if anything unique was added to the usual message. It was the same. I got up to make some tea.

While the kettle was heating on the stove, I looked outside at the night sky. A cluster of snowflakes flew by, reaching the ground and melting instantly. I heard a strong wind howl as it shook the window, and honking cars swerved somewhere nearby. The atmosphere was eerie. No pedestrians were walking outside, not even pigeons or critters in sight. I could see some dim light coming from the apartments of the buildings across from me. Many were still up, but the night was quiet. And then the kettle whistled.

I made myself some Blueberry black tea and wished I had bought some oat milk to go with it. It had a wonderful, nostalgic smell that reminded me of summer.

I went back to my room to finish the book.

I wanted to complete it before Monday came. I often have a feeling on Sundays that if I leave a task incomplete, I will not be able to get to it next week. It will be forgotten or prolonged for eternity. This time, I resolved to start the next day with no outstanding chores.

In all honesty, the book was tedious to read. Occasionally, it would pick up the pace and develop scenes in unique ways, but overall, it was not the book for me. But I kept pushing through. This year, I have been participating in the anti-brain-rot reading challenge with my friend to focus on “consistency, consuming diverse media with intention, and forming my own opinions”. Oh, and as I read on, it became increasingly difficult to stay true to that agreement.

I took a sip of my tea and closed the book, trying to analyze the information I was consuming and the feelings it was igniting in me. Outside, the snowfall grew stronger. The window frame was covered in a thin layer of snow. It got quieter. I could no longer hear the honking and swerving of cars. All the windows across from me went dark. The only light that was remaining in the vicinity was my tiny table lamp. The light flickered as I turned it up.

I put on my headphones. This time, I quietly played French music and got back to reading.

The novel was dragging on, and the words I read felt sticky in my mouth. The music was helping me focus, but my mind had already lost most of the motivation to keep going. I slowly flipped the pages, praying the next page would be my last.

By the time I was done, the blizzard was in its glory. The windows were nearly entirely covered in snow, but through an opening, I could see a serene view of the neighborhood. It was bright as if the sun was about to rise. The sky was painted in beige-white tones, while everything else was coated in a thick layer of fluffy snow.

I wrapped myself in a wool blanket and climbed onto the window ledge. It was as if I were sitting in the fortress made of snow. Secure and cozy. I recalled childhood memories of winter storms, building snow tunnels the next morning, and the city coming to a standstill for the rest of the day. I felt fatigue and frustration leave my body as I watched the snowflakes dance in the wind. It was a surreal experience, likely due to the lack of sleep.

I sat on the ledge for a bit longer before climbing onto my futon and falling asleep listening to the howling of the wind and tapping of frost.

On Monday morning, I felt rejuvenated and grounded. Even after days passed, I could not stop thinking about that night, so I decided to write to you about it.

I hope you found something here entertaining or enough to get your mind off things.

Please take this as a reminder to slow down and enjoy the present without feeling the pressure of checking the boxes.

— Zhenia